The Adventures of Kathlyn eBook

As Kathlyn advanced to the canopied dais upon which
she was to be crowned, a hand filled with flowers
reached out. She turned to see Ahmed.

“Bruce Sahib,” she whispered.

Ahmed salaamed deeply as she passed on. The
impression that she was dreaming again seized her.
This could not possibly be real. Her feet did
not seem to touch the carpets; she did not seem to
breathe; she floated. It was only when the crown
was placed upon her head that she realized the reality
and the finality of the proceedings.

[Illustration: Ahmed salaamed deeply.]

“Be wise,” whispered Umballa coldly.
“If you take off that crown now, neither your
gods nor mine could save you from that mob down yonder.
Be advised. Rise!”

She obeyed. She wanted to cry out to that sea
of bronze faces: “People I do not want
to be your queen. Let me go!” They would
not understand. Where was Rao? Where was
Bruce? What of the hope that now flickered and
died in her heart, like a guttering candle light?
There was a small dagger hidden in the folds of her
white robe; she could always use that. She heard
Umballa speaking in the native tongue. A great
shouting followed. The populace surged.

“What have you said to them?” she demanded.

“That her majesty had chosen Durga Ram to be
her consort and to him now forthwith she will be wed.”
He salaamed.

So the mask was off! “Marry you?
Oh, no! Mate with you, a black?”

“Black?” he cried, as if a whiplash had
struck him across the face.

“Yes, black of skin and black of heart.
I have submitted to the farce of this durbar, but
that is as far as my patience will go. God will
guard me.”

“God?” mockingly.

“Yes, my God and the God of my fathers!”

To the mutable faces below she looked the Queen at
that instant. They saw the attitude, but could
not interpret it.

“So be it. There are other things besides
marriage.”

“Yes,” she replied proudly; “there
is death.”

CHAPTER III

THE TWO ORDEALS

Umballa was not a coward; he was only ruthless and
predatory after the manner of his kind. A thrill
of admiration tingled his spine. The women of
his race were chattels, lazy and inert, without fire,
merely drudges or playthings. Here was one worth
conquering, a white flame to be controlled.
To bend her without breaking her, that must be his
method of procedure. The skin under her chin
was as white as the heart of a mangosteen, and the
longing to sweep her into his arms was almost irresistible.

A high priest spoke to Kathlyn.

“What does he say?” she asked.

“That you must marry me.”

“Tell him that I refuse!”

Umballa shrugged and repeated her words. Here
the Council of Three interposed, warning Kathlyn that
she must submit to the law as it read. There
was no appeal from it.